“Sherlock! Over here!” A sharp, urgent voice shouted from somewhere behind him. The slap of shoe soles on wet concrete echoed throughout the dark alley, followed by a heavy scraping against stone. The chilling ground beneath him was harsh against his battered limbs, but the only thing he wanted right then was to lie there, gasping for air that never came.
Sherlock…Sherlock…Another pair of feet sounded in the darkness as they approached, the footfalls sharp and the stride long.
“John?…”
The Doctor groaned in agony as he felt strong hands on his side and shoulder, pulling him from his fetal position beside the dumpster and awakening the paralyzing pain. The muddied brown trench coat slid back from his slender frame, revealing his beaten body. Blood poured from his chest, seeping through the charred and tattered pin-stripe suit. His thin, bloodstained hands trembled violently as they sought something to cling to. His mousey-brown hair was a disheveled mess, his fox-like ears thickly caked with blood and black grime. Even his face looked as if he had been living on the front of some unknown, brutal battle. Soot, blood and dirt mingled with a film of sweat over his features. But what was even more disturbing was his eyes; they appeared to be sealed shut with a strange, tar-like substance.
“Oh Jesus…” The first voice shuddered. “Don’t worry, we got you. Just-stay with us, alright?” The Doctor snarled in response, falling onto his back stiffly as he struggled to open his eyes. “....Sherlock, what is he??"He heard the man hiss in incredulity.
"Nevermind that!" The baritone voice growled back.
A-alright, hold onto him, I’m going to phone the police.”
“I-grrrghhh…I can’t see…!” He growled through bared teeth, his trembling fingers moving over his face in tentative fear.
“John…we need to move him out of the street and to our flat.” The second voice said in quiet resolution, a slender hand gripping his arm.
“What?!” The first voice exclaimed in shock. “N-no, Sherlock. This- man- needs a hospital! Look at his chest! He’s not going to last-!” The Doctor grimaced as his hearts began to beat fiercely against his beaten ribcage. Growling, he grasped at the arm holding him while he struggled to get to his feet.
“N-No! No…hospit-als…!” He choked out, blood pouring from his mouth as it strangled his voice in its’ liquid grip.
“Lookat him! Do you really think they're going to help him? He won’t even last long enough for them to get here. You’re an army doctor, you can do something now!” The man retorted, impatient frustration building in his voice.
“Wh-what…?! No-Al-alright-calm down!” The man referred to as John stammered, before grabbing his other arm. “Fine, let’s just…hurry!” The two men lifted him to his feet and put his arms around their shoulders. An overwhelming pain shot through his chest cavity, earning a loud cry from the Doctor.
“Aaa-aaaah!” The pain crippled his legs as it drove through his chest and into every limb. “Gaaarrgh!” He snarled, his bloodied face twisting into a grimace as his head flew back. “We’re almost there, hang on!” John barked beside him. The sound of his shoes scraping uselessly against the concrete echoed emptily, streetlights reflecting off of the concrete in pale oranges and reds. Everything was quiet as they approached 221B- an uneasy silence, as if every car had just disappeared and every person had ceased their breathing in simultaneous fear.
“No, no no! She’s…She’s coming!…” He cried in a dulled panic, struggling to open his eyes in vain. His head rolled forward lazily as he began to lose consciousness. “Don’t…don’t let her in…” He slurred, the sound of a door opening far away from him. “Don’t…let…see you…”
“He’s going into shock! We need to get him upstairs!”
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock roared, his powerful voice humming in the Doctors’ left ear. Footfalls on wood soon faded into nothing, as the Time Lord gratefully let the darkness slide over him.
(I regret nothing)
Sherlock…Sherlock…Another pair of feet sounded in the darkness as they approached, the footfalls sharp and the stride long.
“John?…”
The Doctor groaned in agony as he felt strong hands on his side and shoulder, pulling him from his fetal position beside the dumpster and awakening the paralyzing pain. The muddied brown trench coat slid back from his slender frame, revealing his beaten body. Blood poured from his chest, seeping through the charred and tattered pin-stripe suit. His thin, bloodstained hands trembled violently as they sought something to cling to. His mousey-brown hair was a disheveled mess, his fox-like ears thickly caked with blood and black grime. Even his face looked as if he had been living on the front of some unknown, brutal battle. Soot, blood and dirt mingled with a film of sweat over his features. But what was even more disturbing was his eyes; they appeared to be sealed shut with a strange, tar-like substance.
“Oh Jesus…” The first voice shuddered. “Don’t worry, we got you. Just-stay with us, alright?” The Doctor snarled in response, falling onto his back stiffly as he struggled to open his eyes. “....Sherlock, what is he??"He heard the man hiss in incredulity.
"Nevermind that!" The baritone voice growled back.
A-alright, hold onto him, I’m going to phone the police.”
“I-grrrghhh…I can’t see…!” He growled through bared teeth, his trembling fingers moving over his face in tentative fear.
“John…we need to move him out of the street and to our flat.” The second voice said in quiet resolution, a slender hand gripping his arm.
“What?!” The first voice exclaimed in shock. “N-no, Sherlock. This- man- needs a hospital! Look at his chest! He’s not going to last-!” The Doctor grimaced as his hearts began to beat fiercely against his beaten ribcage. Growling, he grasped at the arm holding him while he struggled to get to his feet.
“N-No! No…hospit-als…!” He choked out, blood pouring from his mouth as it strangled his voice in its’ liquid grip.
“Lookat him! Do you really think they're going to help him? He won’t even last long enough for them to get here. You’re an army doctor, you can do something now!” The man retorted, impatient frustration building in his voice.
“Wh-what…?! No-Al-alright-calm down!” The man referred to as John stammered, before grabbing his other arm. “Fine, let’s just…hurry!” The two men lifted him to his feet and put his arms around their shoulders. An overwhelming pain shot through his chest cavity, earning a loud cry from the Doctor.
“Aaa-aaaah!” The pain crippled his legs as it drove through his chest and into every limb. “Gaaarrgh!” He snarled, his bloodied face twisting into a grimace as his head flew back. “We’re almost there, hang on!” John barked beside him. The sound of his shoes scraping uselessly against the concrete echoed emptily, streetlights reflecting off of the concrete in pale oranges and reds. Everything was quiet as they approached 221B- an uneasy silence, as if every car had just disappeared and every person had ceased their breathing in simultaneous fear.
“No, no no! She’s…She’s coming!…” He cried in a dulled panic, struggling to open his eyes in vain. His head rolled forward lazily as he began to lose consciousness. “Don’t…don’t let her in…” He slurred, the sound of a door opening far away from him. “Don’t…let…see you…”
“He’s going into shock! We need to get him upstairs!”
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock roared, his powerful voice humming in the Doctors’ left ear. Footfalls on wood soon faded into nothing, as the Time Lord gratefully let the darkness slide over him.
(I regret nothing)
